Well, I know there must be something more
by achildofthestars
Summary: Jimmy, Castiel. A lifetime, an eternity, all that eternity washed over him like a flood over desert cracked ground.


Jimmy Novak was a faithful man.

At one time.

Riding on the tail end of comet tended to burn the beliefs.

God

oh, God, the invisible fucker

who slouched in shadows and smoked the

cheap cigarettes with a

busty

lady gliding around his popping hips.

Jimmy sacrificed himself for

Claire,

the truest angel in his ridiculous life

and even in his

dreams

she smiles

at

him

and lives to be ninety two with children

and all those

grandchildren with one being

his _namesake_.

But dreams

didn't fall too often,

maybe as much as angels – he feared.

A lifetime, an eternity,

all that eternity

washed over him like a flood

over desert cracked ground.

Swallowed, his

very _being_

smothered into wings of dirt

and wretched light.

When the archangel flew in, all broken tongues and beautiful

fury

Jimmy Novak smiled.

Castiel did not.

Even as his flesh poured

open in the fight with

chasms of red and hints

of early maple

and hairs split to the cracked

follicles, he

laughed with roots of

teeth unscrewing from

his gums.

The burden

was hard,

intense in his heart

before it exploded open, revealing the

inner chambers and mixing

with his decrepit insides.

Jimmy Novak was killed in action.

And when the spirits picked

up the pieces of

his weary soul,

he melt into their

shoulders

of bliss and grace

and then bit their necks with

the sharp edge of his anger

until he was pulled

back

by a man in white and

understanding slipping from him like love.

He honestly meant

them no harm:

the Winchesters.

But when the Devil said –

You can move me

if you want to –

Jimmy Novak moved.

Castiel

asked once, only once,

when they were

lying side by side

in the smoke of burning world,

and both their hands of ten

digits crawled on the ending of hair and

the beginning of the

gentle swell of skin at the nape of

their necks,

if God existed.

Staring at the reflection

of his former face, Jimmy

Novak

brought his recently acquired lips to

Castiel's forehead,

smelling aging death and desperation,

and lied.

Jimmy Novak was a faithful man.

At one time.

Riding on the tail end of comet tended to burn the beliefs.

God

oh, God, the invisible fucker

who slouched in shadows and smoked the

cheap cigarettes with a

busty

lady gliding around his popping hips.

Jimmy sacrificed himself for

Claire,

the truest angel in his ridiculous life

and even in his

dreams

she smiles

at

him

and lives to be ninety two with children

and all those

grandchildren with one being

his _namesake_.

But dreams

didn't fall too often,

maybe as much as angels – he feared.

A lifetime, an eternity,

all that eternity

washed over him like a flood

over desert cracked ground.

Swallowed, his

very _being_

smothered into wings of dirt

and wretched light.

When the archangel flew in, all broken tongues and beautiful

fury

Jimmy Novak smiled.

Castiel did not.

Even as his flesh poured

open in the fight with

chasms of red and hints

of early maple

and hairs split to the cracked

follicles, he

laughed with roots of

teeth unscrewing from

his gums.

The burden

was hard,

intense in his heart

before it exploded open, revealing the

inner chambers and mixing

with his decrepit insides.

Jimmy Novak was killed in action.

And when the spirits picked

up the pieces of

his weary soul,

he melt into their

shoulders

of bliss and grace

and then bit their necks with

the sharp edge of his anger

until he was pulled

back

by a man in white and

understanding slipping from him like love.

He honestly meant

them no harm:

the Winchesters.

But when the Devil said –

You can move me

if you want to –

Jimmy Novak moved.

Castiel

asked once, only once,

when they were

lying side by side

in the smoke of burning world,

and both their hands of ten

digits crawled on the ending of hair and

the beginning of the

gentle swell of skin at the nape of

their necks,

if God existed.

Staring at the reflection

of his former face, Jimmy

Novak

brought his recently acquired lips to

Castiel's forehead,

smelling aging death and desperation,

and lied.


End file.
